Category: Fancy

I haven’t read “The Giver” since I was in the fourth grade (and even then, I probably just skimmed through it enough to have a vague understanding of the story, then went back to reading Betty and Veronica vs. That Slut Bitch Cheryl Blossom for the 1,384th time that week) but I don’t remember the color red being a thing. Cut to the worn-out copy of “The Giver”on my bookcase, hissing: “IT’S ONLY THE MOST IMPORTANT THEME IN THE NOVEL, YOU ILLITERATE TWAT!”

All I can remember is that “The Giver” was set in some black-and-white dystopia world where people couldn’t remember what hamburgers tasted like and they forgot what a lion was (that’s definitely a part in it, I’m sure) and that an old dude called The Giver gave you memories and shit. It was basically The Hunger Games dry humped The Notebook.

Anyways, either red is a very important aspect of that book that I’m forgetting since my brain is 99.9999% memories of Shark Bites Fruit Snacks commercials, or everyone just decided to dress up like their favorite shade of lipstick, because why the hell not. Every single ho who walked the red carpet at the NYC premiere of The Giver looking like a swatch from a CoverGirl collection called “Soft Romance”. Katie Holmes wore a dress in light pink (Xenu Blush, I believe), Odeya Rush wore a gown in Aspiring KStew Rose, Taylor Swift wore a dress in Republican Princess Red on top and Unsweetened Oatmeal on the bottom, and Meryl Streep wore pants, because Meryl Streep was entered the “Fuck Spanx” part of her life. Meryl Streep is smart. Oh, and she also wore red, because I believe you would have been turned away at the door if you didn’t.

One day you’re wiping up another child’s barf as the nanny, then you’re humping Tiger Woods on your wedding night, then you’re chasing him down with a golf club and then you’re bulldozing down the $12 million Florida mansion you bought with your $100 million divorce settlement. Elin Nordegren is truly living the gold digging dream! Tiger Woods wrecked his own house by sticking his wandering peen into the chocha of every Waffle House waitress in Florida and now Elin Nordegren has wrecked her own house the old-fashioned way.

TMZ says Elin bought the 9,000 square foot, 6 bedroom, 8 bathroom beachfront mansion in North Palm Beach for $12 million in March. Elin must be a disciple of Teresa Giudice’s “living in a used house is gross” way of life, because she has torn it down and is planning to build her dream mansion complete with a gallery that will house the torn-off nutsacks of Tiger Woods, which was part of her settlement.

Isn’t this sort of thing a regular sport for the one percent? Whatever. Elin Nordegren earned the right to be wasteful as shit and build a multimillion dollar museum to celebrate the achievements of her perfect gold digging game.

But really, this post was just an excuse to pay tribute to a future gold digger that dropped on my radar during last night’s episode of Toddlers & Tiaras. I present to you….ALANA!

“I want monaaaaay! A dolla make me holla, honey boo-boo child!” is the first two sentences every young star in the money hungry universe should learn. Elin should honor the future of gold diggers by naming her mansion Honey Boo Boo Child.

AssStain Kutcheris barebacking his way through the cream of Iowa’s whore crop, but Demi Moore is the one who’s winning the rebound game by getting glitter bombed every single night. What you’re looking at is not only what you get when you morph Donny Osmond, Eric McMormick and Sal from Mad Men together. This is also the gaydar-breaking beauty who is leaving a thin layer of juicy fruit nectar on Demi’s lips when he blows her an air kiss after each date.

Radar is trying to say that Demi has been dating beauty mogul (FYI: beauty moguls don’t only exist in soap operas and late-80s movies) Scott-Vincent Borba for about a week now. So when Demi tells her friends that Scott gave her a hot facial last night, she really means that he scrubbed her dead skin off with honeycomb bits and lavendar-scented sea salt. (Although, I wouldn’t be surprised if Scott-Vincent cums honeycomb bits and lavendar-scented sea salt.) Radar’s source had this to say about Demi’s new “romance“:

“Demi and Scott-Vincent started dating last week. They have known each other a long time and he’s really been there for her by her side through the whole Ashton thing. It’s easy for Scott-Vincent to keep his relationships a secret because he’s so often photographed hanging out with celebrity clientele. But he’s head over heels for Demi and there’s definitely potential for a lasting relationship between them.”

Getting with an immaculately groomed gaydonis whose sugar walls are sweeter than theirs didn’t work for Star Jones and Liza Minnelli, but that doesn’t mean it can’t work for Demi. I’ve always believed that somewhere over the rainbow, a cougar’s true soulmate awaits.

I, for one, am dripping with jealousy. Scott-Vincent’s eyebrows are so exquisitely beautiful that it’s a shame they don’t wiggle around like a tongue, because it would be nice to get some reciprocation when you make out with them. Not only that, but Demi gets to slip into a warm dream fantasy after Scott-Vincent serenades her with this at bedtime:

In case you haven’t already figured it out, that tingly sensation you’re feeling down below is just your b-hole winking at this video.

If you’re an unemployed man who wears shorts outside of the tennis court and doesn’t lift a hand when a lady takes off her coat, Tom Ford is sneering at you. Tom Ford looks like a well-groomed badger sniffing on a magnolia blossom when he sneers, but don’t mistake it as a good thing. Tom Ford is covering you with judgement. Tom tells AnOther magazine what he thinks are 5 tips for today’s refined gentleman:

1. You should put on the best version of yourself when you go out in the world because that is a show of respect to the other people around you.

2. A gentleman today has to work. People who do not work are so boring and are usually bored. You have to be passionate, you have to be engaged and you have to be contributing to the world.

3. Manners are very important and actually knowing when things are appropriate. I always open doors for women, I carry their coat, I make sure that they’re walking on the inside of the street. Stand up when people arrive at and leave the dinner table.

4. Don’t be pretentious or racist or sexist or judge people by their background.

5. A man should never wear shorts in the city. Flip-flops and shorts in the city are never appropriate. Shorts should only be worn on the tennis court or on the beach.

It’s a good thing I only surround myself with drunk hos who don’t wear coats, because they’re always leaving them in coat check or the bathroom of a McDonald’s. It’s also a good thing I only wear Culottes and shoelace gladiator sandals when I’m in the city. I’m alright by Tom Ford. Yay.

The real truth is, though, #4 cancels most of these out. So stuff your shit into your shortest shorty shorts and twirl your lady friend on the OUTSIDE of the street. All bets are off!

Hmm. On second thought, let me rethink that title. For my 7th birthday party, my abuelita slapped my hands for kicking one of my cousins down the slide (Well, bitch wouldn’t move her ass!), one of my gifts was She-Ra’s Castle and I spent most of the day wondering why I didn’t get all Donald Duck-ey in the voice after sucking the air out of my balloons (CHILD GENIUS ALERT: the balloons weren’t blown up with helium). So that was my 7th birthday party.

Pax spent his on a boat in Paris watching St. Angie slurp on a goblet filled with warm sacrificial blood while listening to his dad yammer for hours about buildings, or some shit. Maddox and Zahara already chewed up all the Dramamine, so Pax had to go it sober. Yeah, maybe the point goes to me after all.

BUT WAIT, are those NILLA WAFERS around Pax’s cake?! Okay, let me pass the point back to Pax. Damn. Damn. Damn.